Lionclaw: Rowan's POV
by harrypotterfangirl13
Summary: This story is Lionclaw, the second book in the Rowan Hood series, from Rowan's Pov. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to Nancy Springer.

A/N: Hello, everyone. This story is based on the Tales of Rowan Hood, a series I enjoyed reading several years ago. I thought the books were cool and interesting, but always wonthered in the novels told from the point of view of other characters what was going on in Rowan's head. So, this is my take on what was happening with Rowan during Lionclaw. I am hoping to make this a three part series, all from Rowan's POV. I wrote the stories awhile ago, but this is the first time I ever thought of doing anything with them. Please read and enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE

Sherwood Forest was utterly quiet and still. The only noises to be heard were the rustling of branches in the breeze and the soft, scuttling sounds of nearby forest creatures.

Sitting in a hollow surrounded by rowan trees and located halfway up the side of a craggy hill, Rowan leaned back against the rocks and watched the spring in the hollow bubble merrily. She was enjoying the calm tranquility of her surroundings; this peace was rare for an outlaw such as herself. Absently, she ran her hand along the wolf-dog who lay sprawled at her side. Big, thickly furred and silver-gray with a rift of golden brown across his shoulders and a bib of white on his broad chest, he looked somewhat like a shepherd's collie.

The wolf-dog, Tykell, turned his head to lick Rowan's hand, making her smile slightly.

Rowan turned her eyes from Tykell to glance across the fire, meeting the gaze of the girl who sat opposite her.

"What are you thinking?" Ettarde asked, raising a slim, elegant hand to push some loose strands of long brown hair behind her ear.

"I was thinking," Rowan answered slowly, "How peaceful things have been of late."

"Yes, you're right," Etty agreed. "It's been months since we encountered any serious threats."

Rowan frowned slightly at Etty's comment; the remark had reminded her of something that had been bothering her all day.

"What is it?" Etty queried, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. How, Rowan wondered absently, could Etty look so perfect all the time? It must be a natural part of being raised as a princess.

"Father," Rowan answered, rolling her eyes in an uncharacteristically aggravated manner.

Etty sighed, quickly understanding Rowan's annoyance. "Oh, honestly, what has the fool done now?"

Rowan shook her head, torn between amusement and vexation. "Lionel and I encountered Will Scathelock this afternoon. Apparently, Father captured some lord and his retainers earlier today, and is hosting them at his camp tonight. You know, the usual affair. All the merry men are very excited about the event."

Etty gave her a confused look. "But why is that bothering you? Robin always likes to waylay noblemen."

"I know, I just wish he was more careful. From what Will said, this lord sounds quite dangerous."

"Robin will be fine. He knows how to take care of himself," Etty reassured her.

Rowan wished she could be as confident as her friend, but she couldn't help worrying about her father, the father who, just a few short months ago, hadn't even known he had a daughter. Rowan was still amazed at the swiftness with which they had connected and the strength and depth of their bond. She could not imagine a better, more caring father than Robin Hood.

"Where is Lionel?" Etty wondered, effectively changing the subject.

"I don't know." Rowan was surprised that Lionel had not returned yet. He had disappeared about an hour ago, mumbling that he would be back soon before hurrying away. Rowan had to smile at the thought of big, babyish, blundering Lionel. Even after all these months, he just could not master the art of moving through Sherwood with any semblance of silence.

Rowan and Etty's conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the wild boy, the final member of their band. He materialized out of the shadows so quietly that it took Rowan a few moments to notice his presence. She gave him a warm smile, which he returned with a nod.

Etty opened her mouth to speak, but stopped abruptly. Simultaneously, they all turned in the direction of Robin Hood's camp, from which a sound was emanating. The sweetest, most lovely sound they had ever heard.

"Music," breathed Etty.

Rowan kept her gaze turned toward the noise as she spoke, although her heart was racing and her blood was singing in her veins. She knew of only one sound that could effect her so. She spoke merely one word: "Lionel."

Automatically, all three of them got to their feet and moved silently out of the hollow and down the hill. Rowan felt irresistibly compelled to move closer to Lionel and hear the sweet, golden ringing notes of his harp and the beautiful, captivating sound of his voice as he sang. As they drew nearer, the words of Lionel's song reached their ears. Warmth filled Rowan as she listened, and she felt a small, rare smile form on her lips.

"In a hollow hill of wild Sherwood

There lives a maiden fair and free.

An archer with a healer's hand

A shining strand in an outlaw band.

This maiden outlaw bold and good

With a wolf who gives her fealty,

Daughter of fitting fatherhood:

Rowan Hood of the rowan wood."

This song was one of Rowan's favorites, and her heart warmed at how highly Lionel must think of her, highly enough to compose a song about her, forsooth!

The trio had almost reached Robin's camp, and Lionel was singing again. "Alas, my love, you do me wrong

To cast me off discourteously."

Suddenly, Lionel's singing broke off and the sound of his harp faded into silence as a lion's roar of rage shattered the spell the music had cast upon the forest and its inhabitants. Rowan was shocked and dismayed by the wordless, angry bellows she could hear coming from her father's camp, and felt fear fill her, chilling her blood and making her heart race. She was immediately on the alert. What was happening? Was Lionel or Robin Hood in danger? Her hand went to her yew bow, and she kept her eyes peeled for any sign of movement. She knew that whatever was happening, it was not good, and she had to be ready to protect her friends at any moment.

Etty was so startled by the noise that she started and almost fell, but the wild boy caught her by the arm and steadied her. "Thank you," Ettarde said to him, and Rowan marveled at the swift return of serenity to both the princess's tone and bearing.

At last, they were coming to the clearing with the massive oak tree where Robin made his camp. As they reached the outskirts of the clearing, they stopped to watch, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Rowan was repelled, yet, at the same time, somehow intrigued at the sight before her.

A man was on his feet, lunging toward the darkness of the forest, his face, blood red in the firelight, twisted into a mask of outrage. The man was enormous, almost as big as Lionel. His furious countenance glared out over his jutting beard. His broad-shouldered body looked powerful and deadly. His hands, curled as hard as claws, were stretched out in front of him as if he were preparing to throttle someone. Perhaps he is, Rowan thought wryly. On his tunic gleamed a device, a rampaging golden lion wielding a clawed mace.

And then Rowan saw what the man was staring at with such terrific loathing: Lionel, huddled against a tree, his eyes full of fear, his lips turned down in distress. He looked as if he were trying to hide, an impossible feat with his size, broad shoulders, and dress; the minstrel wore a primrose-yellow jerkin, sky-blue hose, red leather shoes with long tips that curled up like fern fronds, a short red cape, and a red pointed hat with a tuft of quail feathers on the side. Rowan felt a surge of protectiveness for this huge yet timid boy who had done so much for her in the past. She prepared to set an arrow to the string of her bow, ready to incapacitate this stranger who was threatening Lionel if need be.

"How dare you, sirrah!" cried the man, his words distorted by his fury. "Churl!" The man was choking with rage. "Shameless! No son of mine! I will kill you!"

Son? Rowan, along with Etty, gasped in shock. This was Lionel's father? No, it was impossible. How could such a brute father gentle, kind Lionel? Lionel, who was terrified of fighting and hated any form of violence. This could not be. It made no sense!

Half a dozen of Robin's men leapt to grasp Lionel's father by the arms. Ablaze with fury, he threw two of them off and surged forward as if the other four were no more than fleas clinging to his hide. Outlaws cried out and seized their quarterstaffs. Linnets and thrushes shrieked and flew up from their nests. Rowan tightened her grip on her bow, pulling the string back to her ear. Both Ettarde and the wild boy drew knives. Etty was pale yet determined, while the wild boy just appeared stoic. Lady, help me, Rowan prayed silently. She had never fired an arrow at a person before, and she hoped fervently she would be able to do what needed to be done.

Three outlaws with quarterstaffs at the ready stood before Lionel's father, warning him back, but he glared past them at the night, seeming not to see the cudgels. "Disgrace to my name!" he bellowed. "Show yourself!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Rowan saw Lionel shift slightly. No, she prayed, just stay where you are.

"Dare to show yourself, sirrah!" Throwing off the outlaws who held his massive warrior arm, Lionel's father shook his fist as if swinging a weapon. "I—will—kill—you!"

Rowan breathed in sharply. Kill. Lionel's own father had just threatened to take his son's life. Rowan was astounded and horrified at the sentiment.

Then, Rowan heard crashing sounds as Lionel finally broke and fled. "Come, we must follow him," Rowan urged, hurrying forward after Lionel. Etty and the wild boy were right behind her, not hesitating as they sped past the clearing, following the trail of trampled leaves and broken twigs left by the massive minstrel.

Behind them, Rowan heard a familiar voice shout, "Restrain our lord! He can be sent on his way in the morning." Then footsteps pounded after them. In less than a minute, a tall outlaw with a curly cap of golden hair caught up to the trio. He wore his customary Lincoln green and his jaunty cap with a tuft of feathers. His handsome, weather-tanned face was grim, and his normally merry blue eyes were gray with worry. "Rowan, lass," he greeted her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently as they jogged through the trees.

"Father, I am glad you joined us," Rowan replied, smiling up at Robin Hood.

"My men can handle Lord Roderick Lionclaw," Robin told her, his jaw and the skin around his eyes tightening in barely contained anger.

Before anyone could respond, they burst into a grove of wild cherries. Their sweet scent hung heavy in the air.

And there was Lionel, curled up on the ground, his harp at his side. As they drew nearer, Rowan heard him sobbing and saw his shoulders shaking, his body wracked with grief.

Pity filled Rowan at the sight of him so distraught. In a swift, silent motion, she knelt down at his side, placing a healing hand on his hair. Since she had taken up residence in the rowan hollow, Ro had discovered certain powers within herself, one being that she could heal and comfort with the touch of a hand. At the moment, she could not think of anyone else who required such gifts more than Lionel. Her heart went out to him as she felt his pain and loss. Gently, she stroked his fawn-colored tresses, feeling his trembling ease slightly under her hand. Softly, she spoke to him, trying to reassure him. "You're safe, Lionel. Everything is all right now. You're safe with us."

Slowly, she could feel him drifting into sleep, exhausted from his exertions and calmed by her touch. His sobs eased to shaking, hiccuping breaths, and his tense muscles began to relax.

Rowan straightened and turned to the others, who had remained at a respectful distance. "We should light a fire," she suggested.

Silently, the wild boy began to gather kindling and struck flint to tinder to get a spark going.

Robin Hood shrugged out of his mantle and laid it carefully over Lionel, wrapping it warmly around him. Etty knelt to wrap Lionel's harp in a blanket that Robin handed to her.

Rowan folded another blanket into a pillow and settled it beneath Lionel's head.

"We should all try to sleep," Robin told them. "It's late, and we're all tired. We can talk in the morning."

Everyone was too exhausted to protest, and soon, they were all stretched out on the ground, eyes closed as they drifted into sleep.

A/N: So, what did you all think of my attempt? Please review and let me know! Since the story is already pretty much written and just needs minor edits and tweaks, I think that updates will be pretty regular. Thanks, everyone!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING!

A/N: Hey, everyone. Sorry it took awhile to update. I've been working on several chapters at once, so I am going to publish two today. I hope to have some more up in the next few days. Thank you all for your support!

CHAPTER TWO

The next morning, Rowan awoke early, as was her habit. She lay with her eyes closed for several moments, not quite ready to rise. She took a deep breath of the cool, crisp morning air, and wondered why it smelled of wild cherries.

Then, all at once, everything that had happened the night before came rushing back. Lionel's singing, Lionel's father, the run through the dark night, and Lionel's overwhelming grief.

Rowan shot bolt upright, her heart pounding, looking around with wide, anxious eyes as she reached for her bow; but everything was quiet and still. She surveyed the surrounding trees carefully, but nothing appeared to be amiss. Everyone else was still sleeping, so Rowan slowly began to relax. She was surrounded by nothing but the band, Robin Hood, and morning dew. They were safe. For now.

Silent as a shadow, she got to her feet and began to stoke the fire, which had faded to a few dying embers throughout the night. As she worked, she mulled over what had happened the night before. It would seem that Lionel was the son of a great and powerful lord, a fact that Rowan would never have guessed or even considered before now. Etty, with her striking beauty and courtly, ladylike manners was without doubt of noble blood, but Lionel? Things just didn't quite add up when it came to Lionel.

Rowan frowned as she pondered the situation. Clearly, Lionel and his father had had a falling out, but what had been the cause? Why would Lord Roderick want to kill his son? It couldn't be because of Lionel's timidity, could it? To Rowan, that made no sense. The thought was utterly absurd. But as she considered it further, she began to wonder if that was the reason for the rift between Lionel and his lord father.

Lords want great warriors for their sons, Rowan thought sadly. What a ridiculous notion. Why should it matter if one was a great fighter as long as one was brave and kind, always willing to help a friend in need? But Rowan had to admit to herself that, as an outlaw, fighting was important. One could never tell when an attack was immanent. No outlaw could ever stop looking over his shoulder, constantly worrying about the bounty on his head. And who might decide to take off that head.

Perhaps Lionel's unwillingness to fight was why he had left home. Or perhaps his father had banished him on pain of death. Rowan did not know, and would not get the answers she desired until Lionel awoke.

She glanced over at the big minstrel, who lay sleeping peacefully under Robin's mantle. Rowan was relieved; Lionel needed sleep and rest.

Hearing a noise, Rowan tensed and glanced around again, then relaxed when she saw it was just Robin stirring and sitting up. "Good morning," Rowan said softly, not wanting to disturb the others.

"Good morning!" Robin smiled, bounding to his feet and grabbing a large handful of cherries in one swift, fluid motion. "Mmm, these are delicious!" he exclaimed through a mouthful of the sweet-smelling fruit. "At least something good came out of all this."

Rowan had to smile at his exuberance, but then her expression grew grave again. Robin was too busy gobbling cherries to notice her solemnity. Typical Robin, Rowan thought fondly.

Twenty minutes later, the rest of the band, apart from Lionel, was awake and sitting around the fire. Etty had begun to prepare breakfast, using the food Robin had had in the pouch he carried with him. The wild boy sat silently watching her. Rowan was busy contemplating their next move. She would bet her prized bow and arrows, gifting to her by her kinsfolk, the aelfe, denizens of the forest, that Lord Roderick would be back. Lionel's father was a lord, and would not stand to be humiliated by Robin Hood and his merry men; moreover, he now knew where his son was. Lionel was not safe. None of them were safe.

"Rowan, lass?" Her father's concerned voice pulled Rowan out of her thoughts. He came to sit beside her, his playful blue eyes on her face. "What is it?" he asked curiously.

"Lord Roderick will be back," Rowan said flatly. "We must think of a plan. Soon, Sherwood may be crawling with men-at-arms and bounty hunters, eager to bring back the head of an outlaw; they know they will be rewarded handsomely."

"Perhaps," Robin answered more seriously. "But we have been hunted before, and have always eluded those who would capture us." His eyes brightened with their usual spark of fun. "And we've often enjoyed doing it. This could be interesting. Things have been boring around here lately. My men and I want to see some action."

Boring? Action? Rowan gaped at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. Had he utterly lost his mind? Toads take his fun-loving nature!

From her place by the fire, Etty rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Robin laughed at the looks on the girls' faces. "Do not worry, any of you. We shall just have to take things as they come."

Abruptly, the wild boy rose to his feet. "I'm going fishing," he muttered as he walked off.

"Strange one, that lad," Robin commented, leaning back on the ground, entirely at his ease.

"Yes, a bit," Rowan agreed. She wished she knew the wild boy's story, or at least his name. He was such a mystery to all of them. Who was he? Where had he come from? And why had he been living in a cave near the rowan hollow, a cave he still insisted on inhabiting, despite the band's offer of a place with them in their hollow.

Suddenly, Lionel groaned, jerking Rowan out of her thoughts. Robin got to his feet and moved silently to lean over Lionel. Rowan watched closely, wondering what mood her friend would be in. Again, Lionel groaned.

"I think I hear something dying," Robin teased.

The scoundrel! Rowan thought, exchanging a look with Ettarde, who was trying not to laugh.

Rowan looked back to see Lionel sitting up, somewhat groggy as he looked into Robin Hood's blue, crinkling eyes. He rubbed his own eyes. "What are you doing here?" he asked in confusion.

"Here?" Robin quipped, sitting at his ease by the fire while eating more cherries, his cap of golden hair haloed by early sunlight. "Where is here, do you know?"

Lionel must not fully remember their run through the forest last night, Rowan realized. That was completely understandable; he had been too distressed to notice his surroundings. Poor Lionel, his mind must be reeling with confusion.

Silently, Rowan got to her feet and moved around the fire to Lionel. She knelt by his side, studying him closely, her strong, grave face intent as she appraised him. He still needs healing, she thought, and wordlessly lifted a hand to touch his forehead.

"Are you hungry?" asked Etty. Lionel blinked, struggling to focus on Ettarde, very much the princess even while balancing breakfast on sticks over the fire. With the food under control, she turned her perfect, serene face to him. "Hot bread and cheese," she told him. "Have some?"

He shook his head. Rowan was more than a little surprised at his response. Was Lionel refusing food? If that was the case, then the world had gone utterly mad!

"What! You're not hungry?" Etty was just as startled. Lionel's prodigious appetite was a great joke among the band.

He said nothing.

"I'll feed your portion to Tykell," Etty threatened. Hearing his name, the wolf-dog lifted his head, waving his plumy tail.

"Go ahead," Lionel said. He was actually serious.

"Cherries?" Robin asked, offering a handful. "You've led us to a feast of cherries, lad."

Lionel just groaned, looking mortified. "I suppose I cried myself to sleep?"

"You're entitled," Rowan told him. Pity filled her at the memory of his anguish.

"Yes. Cry all you like," Etty said, matter-of-fact. "Are you sure you don't want something to eat?"

"No. Thank you."

"I cannot believe my ears! Is the world ending?" Ignoring this, Lionel turned to Rowan, meeting her dark eyes. Rowan forced herself to suppress her amusement. "You heard what happened?"

"We heard and we saw," she said quietly.

"You saw!" he exclaimed in surprise.

She gave him one of her rare smiles, remembering the events that had led her, Etty, and the wild boy to Robin's camp. "The sweetest music drew us there, and what did we find? Your father, Lord Lionclaw, forsooth!" And what a sight he had been, Rowan recalled with an inward shudder.

"It is nice to know," Etty said, "that I am not the only so-called aristocrat on the loose in this forest."

Lionel looked as if he was still trying to waken fully as he peered round-eyed at her. "My lady?" Ettarde really was a lady—more, a princess, daughter of a petty king. But she had no wish to be reminded of her father, who had tried to force her into marrying. The cruelty of Etty's father still shocked and appalled Rowan. Imagine, trying to marry off your own daughter to some nasty, old lord! she thought indignantly.

"Young my lord?" Ettarde shot back at Lionel.

"But'" Lionel faltered and fell silent. He looked perturbed and bewildered at being called my lord.

Rowan decided to spare him from responding. Besides, she could no longer contain her curiosity. She wanted to know the whole of Lionel's story: what had caused his father to turn against him, why he had been outlawed, and what had possibly made him try to win back his father's affection, endangering his life in the process. Settling herself cross-legged on the ground, facing him, she ordered, "Tell us."

"Tell you what?"

"How such a brute came to beget you."

Lionel blinked. "Dear me. Usually folk ask how the great Lord Lionclaw came to be afflicted with such a namby-pamby son," he replied, his tone filled with whining self-pity, which did not surprise Rowan in the slightest.

What did surprise her, however, was his comment. She frowned. Why would people think such things of Lionel? Yes, he might act somewhat timorous and pusillanimous, but Rowan knew him to be brave and courageous in times of need.

Etty gave him one of her expressively placid looks.

From his place near the fire Robin said, "Don't ill speak yourself, lad. Just tell us the tale."

"There's little enough to tell. My father didn't always hate me, I suppose," Lionel began slowly. "He was proud when I was ten years old and already as tall as he."

Rowan assumed this was because his height and strength would make him a great warrior. It was common knowledge that every lord's son was destined to spend half his life in battle. Lord Roderick Lionclaw must have wanted his Lionel to be a legendary fighter.

"He himself tried to teach me the manly arts of war," Lionel continued with a grimace. "Horsemanship was not too terrible, although I am too big—I topple over. Kaplunk."

"Kaplunk," Rowan echoed with a wisp of a smile, remembering her own wild horseback ride to save Robin when he had been captured by the Sheriff of Nottingham. The journey had been a nightmare; Rowan had lost count of how many times she had fallen off her cursed steed.

"Falling off a horse is only moderately bad," Lionel said. "But the lance, the sword!" His mouth softened as his lips trembled. "He came at me with that great monstrous clawed mace, and I screamed. I ran away. I thought I did well not to soil myself, but he thought not. He beat me."

Again, Rowan felt pity for her big, clumsy friend. Her mother had never laid a hand on her in anger as a child, and the thought of Lionel being mistreated saddened her and made her heart ache with compassion.

Lionel looked at Robin Hood, but Robin was looking past him. Looking in the same direction, Rowan spotted the wild boy walking into camp carrying several large trout. He caught fish with his bare hands and seemed to think nothing of it, although it still amazed Rowan. Silent as usual, he nodded at Lionel, knelt by the fire, drew his knife, and started gutting the fish.

Lionel looked away, and Rowan sensed his disgust.

Etty said, "I think I'd run too if Lord Roderick Lionclaw were coming at me with his mace."

Rowan couldn't help but agree with her.

Lionel gave her his best simpering stare. "But you're not seven feet tall, my dear lady."

"I'm not your dear'"

"Did our great Lord Roderick try to beat the music out of you?" Robin interrupted.

Rowan was silently wondering the same thing.

Lionel glanced at him, surprised. Rowan, too, had not expected Robin to be so understanding. What had been his experience of a father? He had never told her, and it was hard to imagine he had ever had one. But of course he had, and Rowan decided to ask him when next she had the opportunity. One's life was so greatly influenced by fathers.

Lionel put on a bland face. "Music? My dear fellow, why would he want to beat me for that?"

His reaction confirmed Rowan's suspicions. So, Lord Roderick had not approved of his son's favorite pastime.

Robin grinned. "Why indeed?"

"Who taught you to play the harp and sing, Lionel?" Rowan asked. It had certainly not been his father, and probably was not done on his orders. His mother, perhaps?

"My mother."

Ah, her guess had been right.

"She was from the Western Isles. Magical lands, folk say. This was her harp." Lionel touched the instrument nestled in its own blanket by his side, its mellow waxed wood carved like a wreath of ivy leaves. It was quite a beautiful thing, but not nearly as beautiful as the voice of the one who wielded it. "When she sang and played, the finches gathered at the window to listen."

"And your father?" asked Rowan quietly. "Did he listen?" Lionel's mother's voice must have had the same magic as Lionel's, a magic that had no effect on Lord Roderick.

"No."

Of course not.

In the silence that followed, the sounds of crisp leaves rustling, starlings quarreling over cherries, and squirrels chattering about acorns could clearly be heard. Deeper in the forest a wolf whined. Tykell raised his head and yawned. Etty tossed him the remaining bread and cheese. The wild boy scraped the last of the scales off the gutted fish, wrapped them in dock leaves, laid the packets on the embers of the fire, and sat nearby, warming himself.

Robin Hood said to Lionel, "There will always be a few like that, won't there? Guy of Gisborn." They all had black memories of Gisborn, outlaw hunter who could not be ensorcelled by Lionel's music. "And now Lord Roderick Lionclaw."

"Yes."

"Where is your mother now, lad?"

"Dead. She died of fever when I was twelve."

A murmur of sorrow went around the circle by the cooking fire. With a sharp flash of pain, Rowan clearly recalled her own mother's death. She remembered how she had rushed through Celandine's Wood, back to the cottage where she had lived all her life, only to find it blackened and burned to the ground, as charred and destroyed as her mother's body. She could easily understand Lionel's grief. She knew what losing a mother was like.

"And when I was thirteen," Lionel added, "My father told me to go my ways or he would kill me. So I went away. He did not want a harp plucker for his son and heir, and who can blame him?"

"I blame him," said Rowan. No matter what he did, Lionel was still Lord Lionclaw's son; his father should love him no matter what, even if he was not a warrior.

Ettarde asked, "Lionel—was it the music that turned your father against you, or the music that made you defy him?"

Defy him? What could Etty mean? It took Rowan a few moments to understand what Etty was saying.

"My dear little lady," Lionel protested, peering at her.

"I may be little, but I'm not your dear lady!"

This was a constant cause of bickering between the two, one that was always a great source of amusement for Rowan.

"But dear goodness me, which came first, the chicken or the egg?"

Etty had brought up a good point, and Rowan wanted an answer. "Lionel," she said, her level gaze on him demanding truth. "It's a good question. Answer it."

He moaned and closed his eyes in protest.

Rowan continued to study him, patiently waiting.

He finally opened his eyes and faced her. He said, "I was so big, every man jack in the castle was always and forever wanting me to fight. But, but I didn't want to." Tears filled his big, baby blue eyes.

Rowan said nothing. She continued to watch him thoughtfully, trying to decide whether, deep down, he really was a coward or not. Yes, he had shown many signs of immense courage, but...

Suddenly, Tykell raised his head, his velvety ears pricked, stared southward, and growled deep in his massive chest. In the same breath, every thrush and starling in the cherry trees cried out and flew up in a flurry of wings. Squirrels chittered, and in the tops of the oaks, rooks crowed an alarm. Then silence cut through Sherwood like a scream, and in the stillness, Rowan heard a steel-shod hoof clang against stone.

A/N: I hope you liked! Please let me know your thoughts; I love feedback!


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

As quickly as the starlings had flown, all those by the fire leapt up, reached for their weapons, then ran and vanished amid the trees. Rowan moved swiftly with them, but behind her, she heard Lionel struggling to his feet, then blundering loudly after them. She cursed silently. She and the others had a knack for disappearing like spirits in the woods, moving silently, their slim bodies in brown leggings and green jerkins almost invisible, at one with oak and blackthorn. But big Lionel in his bright yellow tunic and red hose stuck out! The sounds of him crashing like a charging boar through bracken and fallen cherry leaves were clear and distinct, and Rowan could make out hoofbeats coming near, nearer.

Even though her instincts told her to dart away and hide swiftly, she could not leave Lionel to fend for himself. She had to protect him! Turning, she rushed back and grabbed his hand. "This way." She towed him at a run into the oaks, her heart racing like the wings of a hummingbird. Had they come far enough? Well, this would have to do. The horses hoofbeats were first approaching, and Lionel must be hidden. Rowan whispered, "Down!" and shoved him flat on the ground. She threw her brown mantle over him and strewed him with leaves. She could hear Tykell close by, growling like a hive of bees. Rowan slipped behind an oak near Lionel's head, bow and arrow at the ready, motionless. From where she stood, she had a clear view of the campfire from which they had just fled. Her grip on her bow and arrows tightened as she struggled to suppress her fear. She did not want to have to shoot, but if they were threatened, she would have no other choice.

Rowan felt her heart stop as a black monster horse with two heads leapt over the fire.

Or so it seemed at first—a monster, a two-headed black horse thing, an apparition worthy of a very bad night's sleep. It was Guy of Gisborn, the kingdom's most infamous bounty hunter, on his giant black steed in his armor of black horsehide, his thin-lipped face visored by the dead horse's head, mane, ears, sunken eyes and all. Rowan had nothing but bad memories of this man, the man who had been the first one to declare her an outlaw. Her lips twitched slightly as she remembered how she had shot a poorly made arrow at him, arrows she had used before the aelfe gifted her with the strong, powerful bow and arrows she now wielded. Oh, how young she had been then, young and naive.

Broadsword in hand, Gisborn slashed at the camp-fire as if it had offended him, scattering the blazing sticks. With his other hand he curbed his lathered steed, his black-gloved fist hauling the reins. "Sirrah minstrel!" he roared to the forest, his voice booming out from under the black horse skull that shadowed his face. "Coward harp plucker!"

From a dense stand of oak and elm beyond Gisborn floated three clear, silver notes—Robin Hood's horn summoning his merry men to his aid; and letting Gisborn know that "sirrah minstrel" had help and friends. Rowan felt weak with relief at the sound, and her heart soared. Help was on the way. Perhaps this would force Gisborn to retreat.

With a snarl, Gisborn wheeled his foaming steed. "So, the cock-robin bow plucker too?" he shouted. "Bah. My curse on you and all your so-called merry men."

Rowan's blood boiled with anger at the insult, but she forced herself to remain motionless behind the oak, her bow at the ready. If Gisborn wanted a rise out of the outlaws, she was not about to give it to him.

Gisborn's prancing, frightened horse circled the fire as Gisborn glared into the forest all around him. "Sirrah so-called minstrel! Come forth and face me before I slay you and all your outlaw friends."

Face Guy of Gisborn? No one in their right mind would want to willingly do that. Rowan sensed Lionel's fear emanating from where he lay on the ground. Silently, she prayed that he would remain quiet and still. He must not be caught! Gisborn swept his eyes over the oaks, past Lionel and over the tree that hid Rowan. She felt her heart pounding with renewed fear. Lady have mercy, she prayed silently. She might be able to protect herself and her friends from Gisborn, but that did not make him any less menacing.

"Lionel." Gisborn's snarling voice made a mockery of the name. "I know you're there. I can smell your fat, craven, quaking body. Show yourself!"

Rowan clenched her teeth with rage. Don't move, don't attack him, even though you want to, she repeated to herself again and again. Oh, but at this distance she could drive an arrow right through the eyeslit of his helmet. Perhaps, if she was lucky, it would go in at the right angle to pierce his brain. But no, she mustn't. She was no killer, and was not about to become one. She stayed immobile. Only echoes and the rustling of dry leaves in the breeze answered Gisborn.

"Well," said the outlaw hunter in a softer, even nastier voice, "I think your mother was no honest woman, harp plucker."

Glancing at Lionel, Rowan saw his body tense under her mantle. Toads take him, at the mention of his mother he was ready to spring out and face Gisborn. She could not allow him to; Gisborn would crush him as easily as he would squash a gnat! In a voice no louder than the breeze in the leaves, she whispered, "Lie still."

"Therefore I title thee bastard, harp plucker," Gisborn's voice boomed, "for surely you are not your father's son. And when I find you and take you prisoner, I shall bloody your back with the flat of my sword, for you are a low-born churl, not worthy of my blade. You and any other vermin outlaw lurking in my hearing. Farewell for now, bastards all." Gisborn spurred his horse into a low rear, wheeled, and leapt over the remnants of the fire. The horse screamed as it galloped away.

Lionel let out his breath with a gasp almost like a sob.

"Stay where you are," Rowan whispered. They were not safe yet. Gisborn might be trying to lure them out into the open. His threats were by no means empty.

To her relief, Lionel obeyed her. But as if Guy of Gisborn and all his threats meant nothing, the wild boy walked out of hiding and crouched by the fire, searching the ashes with his bare hands.

Toads, what was he thinking of? Was he mad? Gisborn could come back at any moment! What if he had soldiers with him? They could be lurking anywhere. Rowan watched, then relaxed, lowering her bow. Gisborn was gone for now. But really, the wild boy should have more sense. Was his fish really worth the possibility of being caught by surprise and attacked? Aloud, she said, "Toads have mercy." It was her favored oath, and she seldom swore by anything stronger. "Toads," she complained again of the wild boy, "he wants his breakfast. Get up, Lionel. Your hair is full of leaves."

Slowly, cautiously, Lionel rose to his feet while Etty came out from the elm she had been hiding behind. "Oh, thank goodness that brute is gone!" she sighed in relief.

Rowan said nothing. Absently, she reached up to brush the leaves out of Lionel's curly hair.

"Are you all right?" Etty asked him anxiously.

He nodded shakily. "I can't believe that, that creature came here and, and," he spluttered, indignant and peevish.

The wild boy straightened up from where he had been digging through the fire, his trout in his hands. "We should go," he said flatly.

"Yes, you're right," Rowan agreed. She glanced around, looking for her father, but he had already slipped away like a shadow, probably after watching to make sure they were all safe.

Not wanting to waste any more time, the band began their trek back to the hollow that was their home.

"Your father sent him," said the wild boy, his low voice as burry as a thistle.

Safe in an oak grove on their way back, Lionel and Rowan and Ettarde had been talking of Gisborn when the wild boy forsook the fish he was gnawing and spoke. Rowan stared at him. Lionel and Etty stared. Even Tykell raised his furry head and stared. What could he mean? Rowan wondered. And how did he know that Lord Lionclaw sent Gisborn after them? Lionel, specifically. Through black hair that fell over his eyes, as shaggy as a moorland pony's forelock, the wild boy stared back, a cooked, cold, somewhat trampled trout in his hands.

"I heard," he said in answer to their stares.

They waited for more. The wild boy gulped fish.

"Heard what?" Rowan prompted after a while. "Where?" She was eager for answers.

"Fountain Dale."

"You were fishing in the stream below Fountain Dale?" That was a dangerous place. One could easily be spotted there by whoever was passing through. Rowan was suddenly anxious.

The wild boy spit out trout bones and tossed them over his shoulder before nodding. He had no manners and almost no clothing. Bare chest, bare legs, bare feet with soles almost as hard as horn. Rowan wondered distractedly if he would go thusly all winter, when the days and night were freezing and snow covered the ground.

"And?" Rowan urged, wanting to know more.

"Gisborn stopped to water his horse."

"Toads! Did he see you?" Why must the idiot fish there? It was not safe! It was a miracle he hadn't already been caught.

The wild boy answered only with a look that said of course not. He threw aside the mangled spine of one trout and reached for another. He said, "On the Nottingham Way came Lionclaw in a rage, his men shaking."

Rowan could imagine the lord's fury as Robin's men sent him away with much jesting and mockery: how his clawed hands had gripped his horses reins, and how he had probably lashed out at his terrified soldiers.

"I listened," said the wild boy, and he turned to Lionel, looking at him with his strange eyes, dark and hot, like the coals of a fire. He gazed but did not speak.

With his best pout Lionel simpered, "Well, tell me what they said, my dear fellow."

"Don't call me that."

"Then say your name!" Lionel spoke with such force and anger that it shocked Rowan, along with everyone else. He leaned toward the wild boy. "You are a member of the band." On the wild boy's skinny, naked chest, suspended on a thong of deerhide, gleamed the silver circle that said so. "You know our names; tell us yours!"

They were all silent, so silent that the sound of acorns falling, crows calling, and a chill autumn wind hissing through the oaks could clearly be heard. Lionel's sudden anger had changed his voice, making it deeper and surer.

What is happening? Rowan thought uneasily. This was very unlike Lionel, and it felt wrong. She watched him curiously, wondering what he would do next. He suddenly pulled his big bony knees to his chest, curling himself up as if he were trying to hide and protect himself.

Still staring at him with eyes like black embers, the wild boy said a single word: "Rook."

"Rook?" Lionel repeated, sounding nonplussed.

"Yes."

"That's your name?"

"Yes."

Lionel had his whine back now. "But a rook's a bird, my'" He broke off abruptly.

"Yes," said the wild boy, "and a lion is a beast."

Rook. She liked it, Rowan decided. It suited the wild boy. Quietly she said, "Rook. That's a guardian bird. It's a good name."

"The rook is a cousin of the crow and the jackdaw," said Etty with a quirk in her voice, mocking her own scholarly knowledge. She put aside her portion of fish, placing it tidily upon a dock leaf, and wiped her hands on a muslin kerchief she kept tucked in her sleeve for that purpose.

Rowan would never stop wondering at Ettarde's ladylike mannerisms, especially in such a rugged setting as Sherwood Forest. She was an outlaw, for goodness sake!

Meanwhile, Etty held forth with a smile. "The word rook also signifies a watchtower and the chess piece more commonly known as a castle."

Rowan turned to Etty, bright-eyed. "Lion," she urged. "What do you know about lions? Are they real?" Perhaps hearing more about the animal that was his father's device would give Lionel strength and fortitude.

"Of course not," Lionel complained before Ettarde could answer. "Who has ever seen a lion? They're like unicorns. I'd rather be named after anything else."

As if he had not spoken, Etty reported to Rowan, "According to Pliny the Elder in his Natural History, the lion sleeps with his eyes open, roams barren wilderness, fears nothing but scorpions, and charms his prey by drawing a circle in the sand with his barbed tail."

Rowan exclaimed, "He has those great teeth and great claws, yet he charms his prey?" She was astounded by such strange, unusual behavior. The lion was quite an extraordinary creature, forsooth.

"Somebody tell that to my father," Lionel grumbled. "There's nothing charming about him."

He was certainly right about Lord Lionclaw, but there was something charming about Lionel, in a surprising and unexpected way.

Turning to the wild boy, Lionel said, "Rook. You said my father sent Gisborn to frighten me."

Rowan picked up a stick of kindling wood and pulled her hunting knife from its deerhide sheath at her belt. Automatically, she started to whittle, thinking hard. She was not worried, exactly, but she certainly felt uneasy. If Lord Roderick had sent Guy of Gisborn to hunt down Lionel, there had to be more to it than just frightening him. Gisborn could frighten someone just by being in his presence. No, there had to be more going on here. What was Lionel's father trying to accomplish?

Without missing a bite, Rook looked up at Lionel, the whites of his eyes flashing under his dark brows. "No."

"No? But you said'"

"No, not frighten you. Kill you."

Rowan felt her heart stop as the blood drained from her face.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please just click that little button that is waving at you… it is calling your name…


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Next chapter. Please R&R!

CHAPTER FOUR

"I can't," Lionel said, shivering from standing in cold drizzle.

Rowan was not as bothered by the bad weather as he. The sodden leaves falling from the trees, bare drippy rattling branches overhead, dank wind that made them rattle, and gray sky were all part of autumn. Perhaps not the nicest part, but still, things could be worse. The drizzle fell on her, too, slowly soaking her sable-brown hair and brown mantle, but she didn't mind it any more than Tykell, who lay near her feet. Rain was better than sleet or snow.

Rowan could see the disgust and loathing on Lionel's face as he stared at the stick she had notched as a mark for him to shoot at.

With a borrowed longbow and a sheaf of yard-long arrows in her hands, Rowan stared at Lionel, feeling exasperated, but trying to keep her emotions in check. "Can't? You haven't even tried." She would not allow him to give up yet, not before he at least attempted to hit the target.

He said, "It's no use. I can't learn to kill people. I'm a coward."

"Coward?" Rowan felt her face harden, but she forced her voice to grow milder still. How could Lionel call himself a coward? He had shown time and time again that he was no craven. He had saved Etty from being dragged off and forced into marriage; he had saved the lives of both her and her father; he had remained faithful and loyal to the band, even with a one hundred pound price on his head. He had proved himself to be brave and true, and she was not about to let him forget it. "I seem to remember that not so long ago, you fought an armored knight with your bare hands to save a girl you didn't even know."

"That was different. He was hitting Etty. It made me mad."

No, it was not so different. He had shown remarkable courage by helping a complete stranger, and then risking his life again for another stranger. Her. Both he and Etty had helped her save Robin, willingly endangering themselves and becoming outlaws by doing so. Rowan felt a flash of satisfaction as she continued: "And then you risked your life and got yourself outlawed for helping me."

"But my dear Rowan, I didn't shoot anyone."

"Your dear father would gladly shoot you. Why'"

"It's not my fault!" Lionel cried, his voice rising. "I can't help it if my jackass father'"

Tykell raised his head and growled.

Rowan's heart leaped into her throat, a place it had been inhabiting far too often of late. Stiffening, she breathed at Lionel, "Shhh!" Head up, scanning the woods all around her, listening, even whiffing the wind, she stood hearkening like a deer for any hint of danger. Was someone there? She trusted Tykell's instincts implicitly, and she could just make out the sound of something approaching...

In the few days since Lord Roderick Lionclaw's involuntary stay at Robin's camp, it seemed as if all the bounty hunters in the kingdom had converged on Sherwood Forest like vultures on a carcass. Plague take them all, they were gathering even worse than they were wont to do after one of Robin's escapades caused the Sheriff of Nottingham to increase the reward for that famous outlaw's head. The thought of her father being caught made Rowan feel cold with dread, a cold worse than any caused by ill weather.

Tykell scrambled to his feet and stood stiff-legged, his neck hairs bristling. Rowan laid aside the oversized longbow borrowed from Little John and grabbed her own bow from where it leaned with her quarterstaff against a young ash tree, close at hand. In one quick movement she set the tip of her bow against her instep, strung it, and pulled an elf bolt from the sheaf on her back, nocking it to the bowstring. She was now ready for any danger they might face.

But then Tykell relaxed and wagged his shaggy tail. A wagtail whistled. Rowan breathed out and lowered her bow, relieved. No threat was immanent.

A moment later, Robin's second in command, Little John—all seven feet of him—appeared behind a rift of hornbeam trees, quarterstaff in hand. As he strode nearer, swinging the six-foot oaken cudgel like a walking stick, he scanned Lionel and nodded approval. His rugged face softened with a smile. "We'll make an outlaw of you yet, lad."

Lionel's face remained set in an expression of distaste. Privately, Rowan was beginning to wonder if there was any hope at all of teaching Lionel to defend himself. The task would be impossible if he was so unwilling to at least make an effort.

"How goes the archery?" Little John asked, halting beside Rowan but looking at Lionel for his answer.

Inwardly, Rowan winced at the question. Lionel was not about to say anything, so she would have to reply. "It goes not at all, yet." She spoke as levelly as if she were discussing the weather. She would show neither anger nor frustration. It was no real fault of Lionel's that he was so averse to learning to fight. She would not give up on trying to teach him yet. Perhaps, in time, he could learn. "What news, Little John?" she questioned, wanting to change the subject.

The giant outlaw's smile vanished. "The king's foresters are on the hunt for us as never before," he said, lowering his voice as if fate might be listening. "They have set man traps."

Rowan felt her heart jump and her face go pale at the words. Man traps! She had heard of such things from her father's men; they were giant steel traps, fashioned after those used by hunters, but for a much darker purpose: they were meant to capture outlaws. They sounded horrifying, a death trap for anyone who should accidentally step into them. The mere thought of such a catastrophe made Rowan sick. In her mind, she began running through a list of the herbs she had, wondering if she would be able to treat injuries caused by such an awful contraption.

"Be careful," Little John warned.

Rowan nodded. She did not need to be told to be even more cautious than usual. Oh, but what if a member of the band were to be caught in a trap, or one of Robin's outlaws, or Robin himself? The mere idea of such an occurrence made her head spin and her stomach roil with horror.

Lionel burst out, "What is it?" He sounded small and scared.

What must I look like, to make him sound so alarmed? Rowan wondered. But she had to tell him, he had to know. The entire band had to know. She stared at him blankly for a moment before saying, "Steel traps, the kind furriers use, but big. Meant for outlaws."

"And not meant kindly either," said Little John. "Much the Miller's Son found one this morning—with his left leg."

"No! Is it?" Rowan gasped, stricken. It appeared that her supplies of healing plants would be needed after all. She prayed silently that Much would be the only one to meet with such misfortune.

"Broken."

Lionel looked sick at the word.

"It could have been worse," Little John added. "We heard him scream. He did not bleed to death before we found him. Or lie there and starve." Nausea clutched Rowan's stomach, but she forced it back.

Rowan whispered, "What can we do?" There had to be something, anything. They could not just sit idly by. Some course of action must be taken to save more from being injured or killed.

"Not much, lass. Stay off the trails, even deer trails. Watch for piled leaves—that's how they hide them. And feel your way, like this." Little John lifted his quarterstaff and prodded the ground in front of him.

Wind soughed like a snake in the oaks, shaking the branches. A few laggard acorns fell like stones. The drizzle turned to rain. As she stood there, staring blankly ahead of her, Rowan began to feel the stirrings of anger inside her. Who did these outlaw hunters think they were, to come into Sherwood Forest—her home now!—and set traps for their prey as if they were wild animals that needed to be exterminated. They had no right to set these man traps. The outlaws' inability to do anything more than be even more cautious than they already were—a feat that seemed next to impossible—enfuriated Rowan.

She was jerked out of her angry contemplations when Lionel suddenly blurted, "Don't blame me! It's not my fault!"

Rowan gave him a frowning look. What was he talking about? How could they possibly blame him for any of this? He had done nothing wrong.

Little John said, "Why, no one said it was, lad."

"You're thinking it is. The foresters—you all think my father sent them. Because of me."

Oh, what a fool he could be sometimes. Rowan suddenly felt tired, so tired she could hardly find the energy to say, "Lionel, don't be an idiot." Recent events were finally taking their toll on her.

But Little John turned on him. "It is true that your father has the king's ear, is it not?"

Lionel stood stiffly and made no answer.

Ro wondered why Little John had asked such a thing. To her, it seemed of little enough import. Why should they care who had sent the foresters and bounty hunters, just as long as they were here? "It doesn't matter," Rowan said. "There will always be enemies, Lionel." Always. They would never go away, never allow Sherwood's inhabitants to live in peace.

"True enough," said Little John. "And you must be ready for them, lad. Now show me what you can do with my second-best bow."

The bow Rowan had borrowed from him. Likely the only bow in the forest big enough for Lionel, who looked petrified at the thought of actually having to use the weapon. He stepped back and shook his head.

Wanting to spare Lionel and return to the hollow to warn the others as quickly as possible, Rowan said, "We'd better go," as calmly and quietly as she could. "No use soaking your second-best bow in the rain." And she was just too worried and distracted to continue. Perhaps she could persuade Lionel to try another day, when they weren't soaking wet and terrified that they might make a wrong step and be caught in a trap at any moment.

But bows got wet in the rain commonly enough. That was what they were waxed for, to protect them. Rowan knew that perfectly well, but she needed an excuse to depart.

Little John gave Rowan a quizzical glance, then asked Lionel, "Can't you hit the mark yet, lad? It's only ten paces away."

Lionel mumbled, "I can't learn weapons."

"What?"

"I can't learn weapons!" His voice rose, setting crows to cawing in the treetops.

"Rubbish." Little John lifted his quarterstaff, twirled it, and feinted at Lionel. "Defend yourself. Rowan, give him your staff, lass."

Rowan was unsure of what to do. Little John was right, Lionel needed to learn, but could she really expect it of him? She would not, could not, force any member of the band to do a thing they were not willing to do.

Lionel exclaimed, "No!"

"Yes." With the tip of his oaken staff, Little John lightly struck Lionel's chest, just a tap really.

She had to act, had to give her friend the opportunity to protect himself. Rowan grabbed her quarterstaff and thrust it toward Lionel. He had to be able to ward off Little John's blows!

"No. I won't touch it." Lionel shoved his hands behind his back.

Toads take it, what was the matter with him? Little John would beat him with his quarterstaff if he did not accept hers.

"What, you'd rather let me drub you?" Little John twirled his staff and struck Lionel on the leg. "Are you afraid of me?"

Lionel did not answer, but Rowan could see the fear in his baby blue eyes. With his hands behind him, he backed away, looking as if he wanted to run.

Little John thwacked him in the ribs, harder this time.

Rowan forced herself not to flinch. The blows must be beginning to hurt. She thrust her quarterstaff toward Lionel again, and Little John urged, "Take it, Lambel!"

Lionel shook his head hard and flung himself to the ground, whipping his hands around to tuck them under his belly, curling his knees up to his chest. The mockery in Little John's voice made Rowan's temper start to rise.

"Stand up and fight, coward!" Little John sounded angry now. He struck Lionel again, hard.

Finally, Rowan's temper got the better of her. She was tired and worried, and could no longer keep her emotions in check. Besides, the sight of Lionel being hurt and humiliated made her want to protect him and lash out at his tormentor. "Stop it!" she cried, fuming. She leaped in front of Lionel, raising her quarterstaff to ward off Little John's next blow. Rowan stood between Lionel and Little John with her staff raised between both hands, tensed and ready for the next attack. She would not let him touch Lionel again. Her own anger surprised her, but she could no longer stand by and watch him strike Lionel. If Lionel would not defend himself, she would.

Head and shoulders taller than she, probably twice her weight, Little John tried to reach over Rowan to strike Lionel again. She caught the blow on her staff; the strength of it rocked her, but she did not give way, not even an inch. She clenched her teeth and braced her arms, using all her strength to hold him off. He would not touch Lionel again, not while she was here. How dare he continually attempt to attack a member of the band, just to get him to fight? She would not stand for it!

Little John blinked, then stepped back and lowered his quarterstaff. "By the Lady," he told Rowan, "you're bold."

Breathing hard, she kept her staff at the ready and did not answer. Bold? Yes, she was bold, and his actions had made her bolder still. She stared at him hard, her expression cold as she tried to contain her anger. She breathed deeply, trying to regain her usual calm, grave composure.

"Too bad you can't give some of your courage to that lunk." Little John jerked his head toward Lionel, who sat up and blew his nose between his fingers onto the wet leaves.

Rowan felt her anger flare again, but forced herself to keep her feelings under control. She said, "Lionel has his own kind of courage." It was true; Lionel was very brave, in his own way. Rowan had seen the proof of it on endless occasions.

"Bah. Rowan, if you know what's good for your band, you'll send him away."

Rowan lowered her staff, exasperated. It was not her band! How many times would she have to reiterate this? She was merely a strand of the band; they were all equals! She shook her head, and said, "Toads take it. Little John'"

"You're too softhearted, Rowan. Send him away before he's the death of you all." Little John nodded a curt farewell at her, ignoring Lionel, and strode off between the naked, shivering trees, kicking over the stick Rowan had set up for Lionel to shoot at.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rowan watched Lionel get up, rain trickling from his hair down his neck and soaking wet from lying in the loam. From sky and treetops, crows called loudly. Rowan stood watching Little John walk out of sight beyond the hornbeams. There was such a turmoil of emotions running through her, she didn't know how to even begin sorting through them. She was angry; yes, angry with Little John for striking Lionel. She was annoyed with Lionel for not standing up for himself and forcing her to intervene on his behalf. She knew her arms would ache tomorrow from holding off Little John. Also, it irked her that Little John had called the band hers; toads, she kept restating again and again that they were all equals. For goodness sake, she was not their leader! She did not want to be their leader, and she never would be. Why couldn't these outlaws get it through their thick heads? Not even her father fully understood.

Finally, she sighed and scanned all around her, checking for danger. Everything was still.

Lionel unsuccessfully tried to brush loam and leaves off his jerkin, but the wet stuff just smeared and dirtied his hands. If the situation hadn't been so serious, Rowan would have been amused.

Finally he said, "Thank you."

Rowan didn't want his thanks. "Rotten miserable no-neck toads," she grumbled without looking at him. She picked up her bow, Little John's bow, and the borrowed arrows. "Let's go. Just watch where you walk." Lionel blundering into a man trap was the last thing she needed.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hey everyone! I'm so sorry it has been so long since my last update. I really have no excuse, so I won't waste time chattering. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: I own nothing! It's all Nancy Springer's.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sheltering from the night with the others in the rowan hollow, Rowan watched Lionel lying asleep with his feet pressed against stone; he was too big to fit in there any other way. She was so tired from the day's events that she had little energy to do much apart from lean against the stones of the hollow, observing the others through half-closed eyes. Tykell lay peacefully by her side, the firelight turning his gray fur golden, and she absently reached over to lay her hand on his furry head.

Suddenly, Ro heard a noise in the nearby rowan grove. It was faint, but there was definitely someone there. She shot upright, fumbling to get her bow and string it.

But then she stopped, confused. Tykell hadn't stirred; he remained still on the stoney floor of the hollow, his head on his paws. Rowan frowned, then sighed with relief when her father appeared at the top of the hollow.

"Rowan, lass," he greeted her softly.

"Hello, Father." With a smile, she stood to hug him. They embraced, and he kissed her gently on the side of her head.

"Hello, Robin," Etty said; Rook merely nodded.

Robin and Rowan knelt close together by the fire. Robin looked as tired as Rowan felt, so she asked, "Father, is something wrong?"

Robin sighed and ran a hand through his golden hair. "There have never been so many foresters in Sherwood," he answered, looking and sounding worried. "They are searching high and low for us, dearest."

Rowan looked into his blue eyes, which were for once not at all merry. She frowned, struggling to think of a reasonable solution.

"We can no longer stay here," Robin said firmly. "I am taking my men to Barnesdale Forest."

Rowan opened her mouth to protest, but stopped when she saw that Robin had made up his mind, and was not about to change it.

"Ro, I want you to come with us," Robin said urgently, reaching to cover her hand with his large, strong one. "The band is welcome to accompany me and my men. Besides, it will be safer for you all. I do not wish for you to remain here, where you could be injured or captured or'" His voice trailed off, and he looked as if he couldn't bear to finish his sentence.

Rowan considered his words carefully. On the one hand, she did not want to be without her father for a long period of time; but on the other, the thought of leaving the rowan hollow was unbearable. She belonged here, she couldn't just run off because everyone in the country was converging on the forest. She turned her hand over, intertwined her fingers with Robin's, and squeezed gently.

"No, Father, I cannot leave." She raised her free hand to forestall his protests. "I belong here, and this is where I must stay. But why must you and your men leave? Couldn't you stay here with us?" she suggested. "So far it's been safe here."

In the space allotted to him, Rowan heard Lionel turn himself over with a sigh as he began to awaken.

"Only because there are so few of you."

Rowan conceded that Robin made a good point. Silently, she looked around her, taking in every visible detail of the grove. Scarlet berries swung in clusters on the slender rowans and dotted the mossy boulders that formed a wall all around. From a cleft in the rocks the spring flowed as sweet and pure as a maiden's dreams. This was a maiden's secret place, this woodland hollow, Rowan thought.

Without looking, she could tell that Lionel was awake, but he chose not to sit up.

"We always have spring water," Rowan continued, "and we have dried meat and fish stored away." They had plenty of provisions, she and the band had seen to that. "There are a thousand small caves and hiding places in the rocks'"

"Thank you, Rowan, my brave heart, but no," Robin said. "If our enemies have not yet hunted among these crags, it is because they have not yet seen the smoke of a cooking fire. Bring in two score merry men, and that will change. No, I've made up my mind. But I'll ask again, won't you go with us?"

The offer was tempting. Rowan would rather remain by her father's side, but should she really leave this place that had become her home, her shelter from danger? She was sure they would be safe here, and she wished fervently Robin would allow her to extend that protection to himself and his outlaws. But maybe he was right, and they would be discovered if many more were to join them.

Her voice full of thought, Rowan said, "All the way to Barnesdale Forest?" That was rather far, and would be quite a journey.

"Perhaps. A bird on the wing is harder to bring down. And the farther we fly, the harder for anyone to bag us."

Rowan did not reply. In the night, she could hear no sounds except the breeze in the rowans and the whispering of the fire. Not even wolf song, not even an owl hoot or a fox yelp or leaves rustling. Lonesome silence. This is not my decision alone, Rowan thought. I cannot choose for the band. That would be wrong. We must all decide on our course of action.

"Ettarde?" Rowan asked, looking at the others. "Rook? What do you think?" Whether they remained or went with Robin was up to them and Lionel, who had neither moved nor spoken yet. She chose to act as if she still thought he was sleeping; he could join the conversation when he was ready.

Ettarde said slowly, "My mind tells me yes, Robin is right—to stay clear of the hunters, it is better to be on the move. But my heart tells me to stay."

Rowan smiled very faintly; she thought and felt much the same as Ettarde. She knew the logical, sensible thing was to accept her father's offer, but her heart ached with sadness at the thought of departing. She asked, "So which will you follow, head or heart?" She thought she might already know the answer.

"I don't know."

Rowan felt that, in the end, Etty would listen to her heart, but there were other voices to be heard from. "Rook?"

The wild boy just shrugged. Rowan guessed that he wanted to leave, to go somewhere safe, but it did not matter much to him either way.

Robin Hood said to Rowan, "You're their leader'"

Oh, not this again! They had been over this before, several times. "No, I'm not. We're each a strand of the band'"

"Nonsense, lass, and this just goes to show it. You are the one who must decide."

Oh, for heaven's sake. He truly did not understand! How could she explain it to him so he would fully comprehend how the band really functioned?

Lionel sighed, groaned, sat up, and turned to warm his cramped feet by the fire. Without even a nod at Robin, he said to Rowan, "You want to stay, don't you?"

She fixed a warm gaze on him, glad that he had spoken, glad that he understood. But she challenged, "What makes you say that?"

"You are Rowan Hood of the rowan wood." Lionel's glance took in the hidden hollow, the spring, the rowans. "This grove is your second self. You'd be uprooted without it."

Yes, he was right. The rowan grove had become for her what Celandine's Wood had been for her mother.

"And what if she's dead within it?" snapped Robin Hood. To rowan, his anger, fear, and distress were palpable.

Lionel gave him a blank stare. "Why, my dear fellow'"

"Stop that, Lionel!" Ettarde snapped abruptly, startling both Rowan and Lionel. Etty normally never spoke so sharply, and Rowan wondered if the difficulty of their situation had distressed her enough to cause her to lose her self composure.

"Goodness," Lionel murmured, peering at her.

But she shot a quelling look at him, then said to Robin, "Do you really think we're in more danger here? Or is it just that you're annoyed?"

"Annoyed at me, perhaps?" Lionel inquired, owlish.

Oh, he was frustrating! For a moment, Rowan considered throwing something at him, then immediately felt terrible for the mere thought of doing such a thing. She could not remember the last time she had felt so tense and distressed.

"Now why ever would I be annoyed at you, my dear little fellow?" Robin mocked, mimicking Lionel. Without waiting for a reply, he said to Ettarde in his usual quiet tones, "Probably no more danger than usual. It's just that I'd rather have my daughter by me." He turned to Rowan. "But you must follow your heart, lass."

Right now, her heart was aching with sadness. Briefly, she considered making an attempt to change his mind, but knew that such efforts would be fruitless. Instead, she replied, working to keep her voice steady, "You know my heart's with you. But what of Much? Can he travel?" She was concerned for the injured outlaw, and wanted to take whatever steps she could to quicken his recovery.

"We'll make shift to carry him along."

That could not work, and would only cause the poor man more pain and discomfort. "No. He'll be the worse for it. Bring him here and leave him with us. I'll see to his healing."

Robin looked long at her. "So that's your answer," he said finally. "You'll stay here."

She gazed back at him without replying. She almost changed her mind at the doleful look in his eyes, but in the end her resolve stayed strong. However, her heart was full of emotion, and she didn't trust her voice, thus her continued silence.

"As you must, lass. Do as you must." Robin smiled at her, but the smile did not seem to reach his eyes; they looked gray and shadowed, an expression she had seen far too often on his normally cheerful visage. He rose and pulled the hood of his mantle over his head, but then he stood just beyond the fire. He took a long breath. "Much would pine if we left him behind," he told Rowan, his by-the-way tone belied by the taut look on his face. "We'll manage. Many thanks for your offer, lass—but if you wish to do me a favor, I'll ask you this: Might I borrow Lionel to travel with us?"

At first, Rowan could only focus on her worry that her father insisted on bringing Much. The journey would do nothing to help his leg. But then his question registered, and she felt cold with dread. Why did he want Lionel? What was this about?

Lionel sat straight up. "What?" he squeaked.

But Robin looked only at Rowan. "I'm likely to have need of a big, strong man," he told her.

Immediately, Rowan felt her anxiety fade away, and she felt a wide, warm smile spread across her face. Did he really think she would be fooled so easily? She knew him too well by now to fall for such a trick. "Father," she told Robin Hood tenderly, "don't try your foxy ways on me. What do you want Lionel for, really?"

Robin blinked but did not reply. Lionel bleated, "He wants to make cudgel meat of me!"

Inwardly, Rowan rolled her eyes. At least she could sometimes find Lionel's theatrics entertaining, but she saw the change in her father's face as he rounded on Lionel, whipping his mantle hood back from his fierce face. "You great oaf, are you going to hide behind her forever? You'll bring Lord Roderick's army down on her!"

Ah, so this was the trouble. She should have known. She knew that he was only concerned for her, but his tone did not sit well with her. "Father," Rowan ordered, "hush." She stood to face him more levelly, still gifting him with her rare smile, keeping her displeasure at bay. It would do no good to argue with him, especially when he was leaving so soon to go so far away. "Have some faith in the forest," she told him.

"Bosh." But he lowered his eyes, and she knew she had won.

Still she persisted, wanting to give him some peace of mind. "You know it's not bosh. You know the aelfe will have a care for me. And you know I wouldn't send Lionel away even if he were mine to send. May the Lady watch over you." Instinctively, she lifted both hands in a sort of blessing, and his stance softened. He lowered his head, and she touched his blond hair. He kissed her lightly on the forehead, then without a word or even the sound of a rustling leaf he turned and strode away, lost from sight within a moment in the night.

As she watched him depart, a dull ache settled in Rowan's chest, a loneliness she knew could not be mollified until his return. Even the comforting presence of the band did not help. She could still feel the light pressure of his lips on her forehead, and prayed silently that he would soon return to Sherwood safe and whole.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Rowan straightened up from where she had been kneeling, absently resting a hand on Tykell as she looked around. She was in the process of looking for healing herbs, those that would serve best in the event that a man trap caught any of her friends. She wanted to be prepared for every eventuality.

As she was scanning the nearby forest for useful plants, Tykell leaped to his feet, his hackles raised and a snarl rumbling deep in his chest. The sound of a stick snapping nearby made Rowan's heart fly into her mouth. Could some danger be close at hand? Frantically, she looked around for cover, but there was nothing serviceable in the vicinity.

Moving to stand near a wall of rock in hopes of protecting her back, Rowan efficiently drew her bow, strung it, and got an arrow ready. Tykell crouched in front of her, ferocious growls emanating from him every few seconds.

And then he appeared; a squat toad of a red-haired man wearing the tabard and helm of a forester. Holding a short, heavy brute of a hacking sword in his hand, he advanced toward her, forcing her to step back against the stone behind her. Tykell stayed at her side, ready to leap forward at any moment.

"So," the man sneered arrogantly, "What have we here? A wild dog and an outlaw, methinks. What do you say?"

He advanced further, and Rowan could hear her pulse pounding in her ears. "No! Stop where you are!" she half-screamed, her fear getting the better of her for a few horrible seconds. She tightened her grip on her bow, feeling sick at the thought that she might have to shoot the man before her. She could tell from the swaggering way he held himself that he knew she, the healer, was reluctant to harm. Oh, why could she not have found the courage to shoot him before now? He had her literally backed into a corner, and she did not know what to do. Perhaps he had small regard for a half-grown lass. The wolf-dog snarling by her side probably gave him more pause.

"Step back," Rowan told him, "or I will plant an arrow in you. Right there." Her narrowed eyes indicated the soft spot just above his navel, and she began to feel her courage return. She could find the strength and resolve to loose her arrow if she must.

But the forester laughed like a cuckoo. "Step back, forsooth," he mimicked. "Step back from a suckling dairymaid? I think not. But you're small game, girl." His voice dropped mockery, became covetous. "It's big game I want. The overgrown popinjay, Lionclaw's son. Tell me where he is, and I'll let you go."

"No," Rowan blurted. Then she winced in horror as she realized she had betrayed herself. What a fool, what a thrice-cursed idiot fool! How could she have made such a grievous error?

"No, forsooth? Come, lass," the man cried triumphantly. Then his voice lowered, conspiratorial. "You know where he is, don't you? Lead me to him, and I'll share Lionclaw's bounty with you. A thousand pounds, gold!"

Of course you will, Rowan thought sardonically. When hell freezes over. But a thousand pounds! What a price! No wonder every bounty hunter in the kingdom was after Lionel. Still, the mere thought of such disloyalty made her sick to her core.

The forest had gone charcoal dark, storm clouds bellying low enough to shroud the crags, the treetops. Wind hissed like a giant serpent. Rowan remained taught and silent, waiting for the forester to make the next move. If he came a step nearer, she would shoot without the slightest hesitation. Or so she hoped.

The red-haired man drew in breath with a sharper hiss. "Just for the life of a blubbering baby-faced milksop, we could have a thousand pounds," he whispered, as if the oaks had ears. "Half for you, half for me. Come on, lass, show me where he hides, and we'll both be rich."

"Go suck eggs," Rowan told him, and was proud that her voice was as hard as her aelfin arrowhead.

"Curse you!" The man stepped toward her, threatening, raising his sword higher. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice a growl as menacing as Tykell's. "Speak now, or I'll beat it out of you: Where is he?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Rowan prepared to let the arrow on her string fly. But before she could even draw it to her ear, a stone came whistling out of a patch of ivy, striking the forester hard and true. He dropped his weapon and fell forward.

Ettarde stepped out of the ivy, picked up another rock, and conked him for good measure. The forester lay still.

If she had not felt such shock, Rowan might have smiled. She could not remember the last time she had been so pleased to see someone.

In a moment, Lionel had come to stand beside Etty. Rowan lowered her bow and stepped down from her rocky perch. The three of them looked down at the forester.

"Toads have mercy." Dazedly, Rowan was surprised that her voice did not shake. Her insides were churning, and she had to swallow back bile.

"Now what?" asked Ettarde, her voice shaky. "Rowan, he—he knows too much. We have to'"

"No." The word jumped out of Rowan before Etty could finish. The idea of what her friend was suggesting made her even more sick, and she knew she could not perform the act, not now. Her mind told her it was the right course to take, but it just did not feel right.

Ettarde turned to her. "But we have to! What if'"

"Etty, you know I can't kill a man in cold blood!" She was shocked the princess would even suggest such a thing.

"Not in hot blood either," Lionel grumbled. He bent and heaved the limp forester onto his shoulder. Straightening, he said, "I'll take him to Fountain Dale and leave him there. Someone will find him."

Relief filled Rowan at his actions. Relief and gratitude. She would not willingly see this man harmed, even if he had been ready to attack her and Tykell. It was simply not in her nature, and went against her every principle.

Etty looked up at him, her fair eyes wide with fear and surprise. "Lionel."

"Rowan's right," he told her. "Anyway, it doesn't matter."

Rowan wondered at his statement, but before she could question him, he had turned and was thundering off through the ivy in the direction of Fountain Dale.

Tykell came to Rowan and pressed himself against her legs, whining softly. With a slightly shaking hand, she reached down to rub his velvety ears. Without looking at Etty she muttered, "Come on. Let's get back to the hollow." She had had quite enough adventures for one day.

"You cannot be serious!" Rowan gasped, staring at Etty with wide eyes.

"I am. It's all true."

"But, but I don't understand."

"Oh, Ro," Etty sighed, rolling her eyes. "Isn't it obvious?"

It wasn't to Rowan. She was still reeling from the information Etty had just given her about Lionel.

Sighing, Etty continued, "It's sort of like when you pretended to be a boy."

"I don't think so," Rowan objected. To her, they were two entirely separate situations.

"Not exactly, but they are comparable," Etty argued. "Lionel didn't want to fight. His music means so much to him, and he was afraid of hurting his hands. So he came up with a way to forestall his father and his men-at-arms. If you ask me, I think it's rather clever."

Clever, maybe. Insane, definitely. Rowan was still struggling to wrap her head around it all. "So," she started slowly, working through the details in her mind, "He acted like a sissy to make them think he was one. He donned new clothing, grew his hair, and used a crisping tong'"

"A nice touch, wouldn't you say?" Etty interjected.

"I suppose." Rowan had to smile. She glanced down at the wake-robin root she was holding. She and Etty were sitting in the hollow together, washing off the pesky root in the spring. Rook was off presumably fishing, and Lionel had yet to return from Fountain Dale. Rowan wondered if he was reluctant to face them after Etty had uncovered his secret. "But," Rowan wondered, still frowning, "Why has he not stopped with the sham? Why continue when he is no longer in his father's household?"

"I'm not sure," Etty answered thoughtfully. "Perhaps it has just become so ingrained in him that he cannot prevent himself from continuing. Either way, I don't think it really matters. He was awfully brave to defy his father the way he did."

"Yes," Rowan agreed, "he was. He is no coward, that is for certain." Shifting into a kneeling position, she continued soaking the wake-robin in the spring. "I would never have guessed it, though," she murmured after a span of silence.

To her surprise, Etty appeared to be biting back laughter. "What?" Rowan demanded, miffed.

"Oh, Ro, of course you wouldn't have. You're a fighter; it's hard for you to understand someone who's not."

Rowan was surprised by the comment. Lately, she had come to consider herself more of a healer than a warrior, but she could see Ettarde's point. After her mother died, she could have just given up, but she did not. When she came to Sherwood and was not immediately given a place in Robin Hood's band, she still forged on. And when her father had been captured in Nottingham, she could have chosen to let his men try to save him; instead, she fought to rescue him herself. She would fight when she had to. Even today, however much she detested the very notion, she would have slain the forester if need be.

"You're right," she agreed slowly. "But I think if he really needed to, Lionel might show a fiercer side."

"Mayhap," Etty said contemplatively. "Only time will tell."

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed these new chapters. I will have more out soon, I promise. Hopefully…


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Yay! I updated in under two weeks. Hopefully I can keep this pace going. Please feel free to leave a review. I love the feedback! Thanks so much to ScarletAlexandra for all of her wonderful reviews, and after reading this, go check out her Rowan Hood stories. They are totally worth a read! Now, on with the chapter.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next morning, Rowan woke abruptly with a feeling of dread weighing heavy in her chest. What could be causing such a dreadful emotion? She sat up quickly, looking around with an alert air.

Instantly, she knew something was wrong. Very wrong. It took her a few seconds to spot what was amiss, but when she did, she felt her heart stop and her stomach drop like a stone.

Lionel was gone. The big minstrel had disappeared, along with the bag that held his belongings; all that was left was his blanket, lying cold and empty on the hard ground.

Frantically, Rowan scanned the surrounding area, but he was nowhere to be seen. Her first thought was that foresters or bounty hunters had come upon the hollow in the night, but when she put her hand on a nearby stone in preparation to rise to her feet, her fingers came upon something that made her blood run cold.

Silently praying that she was wrong, she lifted the object up to get a better look at it, and immediately wished she had not. Lionel's strand of the gimmal ring was suspended from its leather cord in her hand, swaying gently back and forth. He had left it with her. That could only mean one thing. He had left the band.

"Etty!" Rowan cried out, her immediate reaction being that they needed to find Lionel. She had to talk some sense into him, persuade him to come back somehow. The idiot must have thought that by leaving, he would draw his hunters away from Rowan and the rest of the band.

"What?" gasped Etty, jerking upright and blinking dazedly. "What is it?"

"It's Lionel. He's left," Rowan snapped, already on her feet. "We have to go after him."

"Left. What do you mean?" Etty appeared bewildered, still struggling to wake up properly.

"Look." Rowan held up Lionel's silver ring.

The princess's eyes widened when she saw it, and the color drained from her face. "Oh," she breathed in horror. "Oh no." Then an expression of anger flashed across her face. "How could he be so stupid? Did he really think he'd help us by deserting us?"

"I don't know what he thought," Rowan murmured, her hands starting to shake, "But we just have to find him. We can't leave him alone out there." Fear for her friend had become the dominant emotion she was experiencing. The horrific possibilities were endless: he could be caught by the king's men, he could become lost, he could freeze or starve to death, or—and this was the worst prospect of all—he could be caught in one of those deadly man traps.

"What if he doesn't want to be found?" A gruff voice made Rowan turn in surprise. She hadn't even noticed the wild boy come down from his cave to join them in the hollow.

"Of course he wants to be found. He just wasn't thinking," Etty said brusquely.

But now that Rook had brought up that particular point, Rowan wasn't so sure. She did not lead the band, and she could not make decisions for its members; it was up to them to choose their own paths. Did she really have the right to pursue Lionel and attempt to force him to return?

Seeing her hesitation, Etty exclaimed in exasperation, "Ro, come on. Let us not waste time dithering. We can at least try to locate Lionel and talk to him. If his heart is really set on leaving, so be it, but we at least have to try."

Yes, Rowan decided, Etty was right. At the very least, they should try. Perhaps they might be lucky after all. Her mind made up, she slung her bow and arrows on her back and began to climb down the rocky slope that sheltered the rowan hollow. "You can come with us or not, whichever you like," she called over her shoulder to the wild boy. Without answering, he fell in behind Etty, and they set off.

"Oh, this is pointless," sighed Etty, slumping gloomily against a beech tree. Unconsciously, Rowan took in the beauty of the grove where they had stopped to talk over their next move. It was truly one of the most spectacular places she had seen in all of her time in Sherwood Forest.

"He must have gone a different way," Rook said sensibly.

"Obviously, but where?" Etty demanded moodily, kicking at a nearby branch that had fallen from one of the trees. "How can we possibly hope to find him?"

But they had to continue searching, Rowan thought grimly. She was not about to give up yet.

Squaring her shoulders and drawing in a deep breath, she continued onward.

"Rowan," Rook began, and she heard the uncertainty in his tone.

"You don't have to come. I understand if you want to return to the hollow, but I must find Lionel," she said evenly, glancing briefly over her shoulder at her two friends.

It was then that it happened, and everything changed. Looking back afterward, Rowan could only remember scattered details and impressions of the exact occurrence. She remembered her foot catching on a root, and how she had stumbled and stepped for just a moment off the faint path they had been following and onto a dense pile of fallen leaves.

That was all it took. She remembered the crackling sound of the foliage breaking under her feet, and then the horrible crash as something slammed down on her legs.

She recalled vividly Etty's scream of horror and Rook's choked exclamation; vaguely, she noted that she had never heard the wild boy express such an emotion up until now.

When she looked down, Rowan felt faint at what her eyes fell upon, and she began to comprehend exactly what had happened. Both her legs were firmly clamped in the jaws of a man trap, her blood beginning to trickle slowly from where it's teeth bit into her flesh. Dizzily, Rowan thought how red the gore appeared as it stained her brown leggings. At that moment, the pain overcame her, making her lose her footing and fell to the ground with a cry of shock and pain.

Oh, the pain! She had never experienced such all-consuming, overwhelming agony. She had not thought it was possible to feel such pain, but the sensation from her broken legs—for they must be broken, it was impossible that they were not—was excruciating in its intensity, and was like white hot fire burning through her.

She must have lost consciousness, for the next thing that registered in her muddled brain was the sound of her friends' voices close at hand. "I don't know if we can," Rook was growling through clenched teeth.

"We must try," Etty argued. "We have to do something. We can't just leave her here." Her voice rose in distress, and Rook snapped, "Yes, of course we will. Come on, let's get to it."

Blinking open her eyes, Rowan saw the two coming closer through a haze of pain. She tried to speak, but was in too much pain to utter more than a faint croak. She had to work hard to suppress the scream that was building steadily in her throat.

"We're going to get you out of here, Ro," Etty promised, crouching for a moment by Rowan's head and touching her cheek with trembling fingers.

"Come to this side," Rook instructing Etty, motioning to where he wanted her.

Quickly, the princess took her place, her face hard with resolve, despite the tears that stood in her eyes. The two gripped either side of the mat trap, getting ready to attempt to open it and set Rowan free.

Please, hurry! Rowan wished silently. She didn't know how much longer she could stand to be held here, unable to move without burning flashes of pain making her head spin and her vision go dark.

"One, two, three!" Rook exclaimed, and the two pulled with all their might.

She couldn't help it; Rowan screamed. The sensation of the trap's sharp teeth pulling at her legs, digging into her flesh and jarring her broken bones was too much for her to stand. Darkness consumed her world once more.

A rough, warm tongue licking her face brought Rowan back to the waking world, and she whimpered softly as pain lanced through her again. "Ty," she whispered hoarsely, trying to reach up and touch the wolf-dog she knew was nearby. "Oh, Ty." If only he could do more than lick her and push his big head under her weak hand.

"We can't do it," Etty sobbed nearby. "We're not strong enough."

"Lionel," gasped Rowan. "Find Lionel." He would have the strength to open the trap, surely.

Somehow, she knew that he was still in Sherwood. With fumbling fingers, she gripped a handful of Tykell's thick fur. "Find him, Ty," she begged in a low voice. "Go, find Lionel. Please, find Lionel."

With a whine, he nuzzled against her for a moment before leaping away and streaking off into the trees.

"I'll go find help," Rook said decisively, straightening and turning away from them. "Stay with Rowan, Etty." Before either girl could protest, he had loped off after the disappearing wolf-dog.

Etty knelt beside Rowan and took her hand; her own still trembled. "Hold on, Ro. We'll free you soon. Just wait a little bit longer."

Rowan tried to smile, wanting to assure Etty, but, from the look in her friend's eye, it must have not come out right. She was in too much pain to even manage a proper smile.

After that, time lost all meaning to Rowan. All there was was the pain, the ever-present, constant pain that took her breath away and made her bite her lip to stay quiet and still.

Once, she thought desperately, Lionel, Father, Tykell, where are you? Please, come to me, come save me from this nightmare.

But they were gone, all of them gone. Lionel and Tykell were who knew where, and her father was well on his way to Barnesdale Forest by now.

Lady, she prayed, please let someone come. Please, let help arrive soon. She even prayed to her ancestors the aelfe for strength and swift aid.

Rowan was dragged from her stupor by the sound of hooves on loam. For a moment—a wild, desperate moment—she thought it must be a friend on their way to free her, but then her good sense told her better, and fear struck her as hard as a blow. She saw fear on Etty's face, too, and knew the princess was just as alarmed.

"Who could it be?" Etty breathed, rising and feeling for the knife she, like all outlaws, carried.

"No one good," Ro answered. "Go, Etty, hide. Odds are it is foresters or bounty hunters coming this way; maybe they are coming to check this very trap. They will spot me for sure, and I will not have you harmed. Conceal yourself."

"No!" Etty argued stubbornly. "I won't leave you. I can't."

"Go!" Rowan almost shouted. She had never spoken thusly to her friend before, she was so terrified for her that she would have done anything to ensure her safety. "Run. Hide. Just go, Etty."

Ettarde hesitated, and for a terrible second, Rowan thought she might insist on remaining by her friend's side, but to Ro's relief, the princes eventually melted away behind a tree.

Moments later, two men rode into sight, hard, strong men wearing helms and chain mail. All of Rowan's worst fears were coming to life before her very eyes.

"So," growled one, pulling his horse up in front of where Rowan lay prostrate on the cold ground. "What have we here?"

"Some fool of a maid," the other snapped, swinging down from his horse and circling the trap in slow, measured steps.

"An outlaw would be my wager." The other leaned over Rowan with a nasty sneer on his broad face. "Who are you, girl? Tell us, and we might let you live."

Rowan pressed her lips together and made no answer. She was not about to reveal her identity to those brutes.

"All right," said the first man, straightening. "Let's spring this trap and reset it."

"And the girl? I think we ought to kill her, or take her to the Sheriff of Nottingham at the very least," the second answered.

"We'll bring her with us and decide on the way," the other bit out impatiently. "Hurry up, I want to move on."

At first, Rowan was relieved that she would be released from this prison, but they horror suffused her when she realized how grim her fate appeared. Would they just kill her, or bring her to Nottingham? Would she be hanged, as would have befallen Robin if she had not saved him? Maybe they'd give her to Guy of Gisborn, or Lord Lionclaw.

Both men were on either side of the trap by now, and when they sprung it, dragging its cruel claws from her legs, she felt herself sliding into darkness. The pain was too much for her to bare. She could take no more.

She felt rough hands on her, lifting her and throwing her onto something. Across the back of a saddle, perhaps?

The last thing Rowan heard before everything went black was Etty's horrified cry. "Rowan!"


End file.
